


God of Lost Things

by epsilonargus



Series: God of Broken Things [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bottom!Harry, HP: EWE, M/M, Post-War, Rimming, Smut, flangst, top!draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 23:23:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6727570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epsilonargus/pseuds/epsilonargus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war is over, and Harry Potter is lost. He doesn't want to care about anything, but one day, Luna forces him to attend a Christmas Ball planning committee meeting, and he discovers something he thought was gone forever.</p><p>SEQUEL TO 'GOD OF BROKEN THINGS'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hermione's Concern

**Author's Note:**

> Wow. I am so sorry for creating the misunderstanding that 'God of Broken Things' was a standalone. I meant the ending to be a cliffhanger of sorts, and I had always intended to create a sequel and finish the sort-of duology off with a happy ending. I'm quite new to the fandom, so I had no idea that warnings can be so important.
> 
> Well, in any case, here's the sequel! I apologise for the extreme lateness and I am EXTREMELY grateful to the mods for giving me such an extension.
> 
> Now I have to crawl into bed and drink loads of coffee at work tomorrow...

**_\- Chapter One -_ **

**Hermione’s Concern**

 

Ron was the first of them to crack. He told Harry that it was as simple as waking up on a Tuesday morning and realising that the war was over. He marched into Head Auror Robards’ office and resigned from the Auror Office that very morning.

‘Robards looked as if I told him I don’t want to be a wizard anymore,’ he chuckled, licking the beer foam off his lips.

‘Well, you _are_ one of the heroes of the war,’ Hermione said matter-of-factly. ‘It doesn’t look good, does it, it makes people wonder what it’s about the Aurors that drove you away.’

Ron shrugged. ‘It doesn’t have anything to do with the Aurors … I just … can’t do it anymore. You know what I mean, Harry?’

‘Yeah,’ Harry said, picking at the bowl of crisps on the table. ‘Don’t worry about it, mate.’

‘You’re really going to join George at the shop then?’ Hermione asked.

‘Yeah,’ Ron nodded. ‘I think it’ll be fun. My Auror training might come into handy developing new jokes, don’t you think?’

She threw him a glare of mock outrage. ‘And to think Kingsley accelerated your Auror training! You’re an utter disgrace, Ron Weasley.’

He snorted, nudging her playfully in her side. ‘Shut up, Granger.’

Watching them, it was hard to tell that they had come out of a break-up three months ago. Harry was glad that there was no more of his having to divide his time between the two, of having to watch what he said – something that was close to impossible, considering that he worked with Ron and lived with Hermione. Somehow, Ron and Hermione came out of the relationship with a stronger friendship. Harry couldn’t figure out how they had done it; things were still unbearably awkward between him and Ginny.

He leaned back in his seat, drinking his beer slowly, listening to Ron and Hermione chatter as they waited for the rest to arrive. Around them, the Hog’s Head was quiet, Aberforth somewhere in the back rooms. Harry ignored the furtive activity in the shadows. He wasn’t an Auror at the moment; just a regular bloke meeting old schoolmates for a catch-up.

Outside the mullioned windows clouded with dirt, the foot traffic dropped away to nothing as the evening wore on. Even though the Aurors had caught the last Death Eaters a little over two months ago, people were still wary of the darkness. It would take more than the six months since the war ended for Wizarding Britain to truly recover.

But there was hope; as Dumbledore would say, there would always be hope. There was a lot more laughter on the streets now. People were returning to work. Shops and offices were being rebuilt – including Hogwarts, looming over Hogsmeade; Professor McGonagall, who was unanimously appointed Headmistress by the school board, said the school would be ready by the next school year.

Hermione was planning to go back, even though she was already working with Muggle Liaison. Her bosses didn’t want her to go, but she insisted on the necessity of having the proper qualifications. ‘I’m thinking of taking a Masters in Transfiguration, Charms and Muggle Studies as well,’ she had told them once, causing Ron to turn to Harry with wide eyes and an incredulous ‘Not even _Merlin_ has three Masters’.

She had been trying to make Harry and Ron go back with her, but Ron had fobbed her off. ‘Fred and George didn’t have the “proper qualifications” and they are – were – George is bloody successful,’ he pointed out, flustered by his grammatical misstep; they pretended not to notice. ‘Anyway, _Harry_ doesn’t need NEWTs. He’s going to be Head Auror one day, easy.’

 _Head Auror_ was, after all, what everyone expected of Harry Potter. He finished the last of his beer, and tried to imagine if he had quit the Aurors and failed utterly. What else was there for him?

‘Would you like another pint, mate?’ Ron asked, clambering to his feet.

‘Sure, thanks.’

‘Another glass of wine for you?’ he asked Hermione. Seeing the reluctant look on her face, he added, ‘Oh, come on. We’re supposed to be celebrating me starting a new journey in life or something like that. It’s still early, the others aren’t even here yet.’

‘Oh, all right,’ she acquiesced, rolling her eyes. ‘Just for you, Weasley.’

He smirked at her and sloped off.

Harry began ripping up the damp paper coasters, idly watching the darkening windows.

‘Do you think you’ll be lonely without him?’ Hermione asked.

‘No, I reckon not,’ Harry said. ‘We aren’t on the same teams in the first place, you know.’

‘Right,’ she said. ‘Do you … are you thinking of … making a career change?’

She was trying too hard to sound casual. He looked up at her, frowning slightly. Her cheeks were slightly pink, but she met his eyes unflinchingly, a determined set to her mouth that told him she wanted to get it off her chest, whatever “it” was.

‘No, I’m not,’ he said slowly. ‘Why should I?’

She tried for a casual shrug. Seeing the look on his face, she gave up with a sigh. ‘Tell me the truth, Harry – do you like being an Auror?’

He made a face. ‘What’s there to like or dislike? Being an Auror is work, and work is work, do you get what I mean? I don’t _mind_ what I’m doing and I reckon I am doing the world some good. Being an Auror is alright … you can’t expect everyone to love the work they do.’

‘No, you can’t. But even people who do the work for work, they have some other aspect of life they enjoy, some other passion they work hard for. Harry, you’re working all the time and I don’t see you taking a break or –’ she broke off with a shrug, looking frustrated. ‘Oh, I don’t know how to say it.’

‘Are you accusing me of being a workaholic?’ he asked, confused.

‘No. I just – I just want to see you happy,’ she said helplessly. ‘You’re not happy, Harry.’

He stared at her, dumbfounded, and then reached over to pat her hand. ‘I’m all right, Mione. I’ll be fine without Ron. He’s always coming over for dinner anyway.’

She shook her head. ‘That’s not what I mean. I –’

‘Here you go,’ Ron said cheerfully, setting the drinks down on the table. He caught sight of their hands and raised his eyebrows. ‘What did I miss?’

Harry grinned, picking up his fresh pint. ‘Mione reckons I’ll be lonely without you. I disagree. I can’t wait to see the back of your ugly ginger mug.’

‘Prat,’ Ron slung an arm around Harry’s neck, squeezing him tight. ‘I reckon you will, you bugger. Who will eat lunch with you now?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Anyone else from the office would do. Now I won’t have to watch you tear through your lunch like a hippogriff; it’s enough to turn a bloke off his food,’ Harry teased, elbowing Ron in the side.

‘Ouch,’ his friend groaned, clutching his side and collapsing back into his seat. ‘You know how to wound a man, Harry.’

‘Whose heart did you break this time, mate?’ a cheerful voice boomed as a heavy hand landed on Harry’s shoulder.

‘Seamus!’ Ron beamed, jumping to his feet. ‘Dean, Neville, Luna – you prats are bloody late.’

‘Nah, the three of you are just early,’ the Irishman grinned. ‘The rest are right behind us!’

True enough, the rest of Dumbledore’s Army – including a stiff Ginny – filed into the Hog’s Head, forcing some of her shadowy patrons to flee at the sight of so many of the war’s heroes in one place. Amidst the happy ‘I haven’t seen you in _ages._ Blimey, you look great!’ and ‘You sodding prat, why didn’t you owl or Floo?’, Harry could brush aside Hermione’s concern, even if she occasionally flashed him looks that told him she wasn’t letting him off so easily.

He was bewildered. What did she mean he wasn’t happy? The war was over, Voldemort vanquished, Wizarding Britain clambering back to her feet. He was in a pub surrounded by his friends, an ice-cold pint in his hand, laughter in the air.

How could he be unhappy?

It was just like Hermione to feed him information that left him with a belly full of wriggling Flobberworms; he was unnerved and a little sick. He shook off his uneasiness, determined to enjoy himself, to prove Hermione wrong.

As the night went on, people became louder and more cheerful. Dean and Seamus had even managed to drag Aberforth out to drink with them, and between the three of them were butchering Muggle nursery rhymes, which made the barkeeper teary-eyed because they reminded him of his childhood. Padma, Parvati and Katie were huddled in the corner, giggling over some horrendous first date Katie had gone on last week. Next to them, Lee and Terry were snogging, hands fisted on the front of jumpers, as their friends hooted and cheered; Ernie was never going to let Terry forget this.

‘They’ve gone bonkers,’ Harry said aloud, staring wide-eyed at Lee and Terry.

‘Oh, no. Terry’s fancied Lee for ages,’ Luna informed him, taking the empty seat next to him, a crystal goblet of fizzing Dragonfire brandy in her hand.

‘Has he?’ Harry was astonished. ‘Well then … good for them!’ He contributed an enthusiastic hoot, laughing as he fell back, taking a generous drink of his fifth pint.

‘How are you doing, Harry?’ Luna asked, her dreamy tone at odds with their surroundings, her large, silvery eyes so focused on him, it was like being scrutinised by the moon.

‘I’m doing great,’ he announced, the alcohol buzzing hot in his blood, the thrum of his heartbeat loud in his ears. ‘You’re looking bloody fantastic, Luna!’

She was too, dressed in a black leotard and a skirt that appeared to be made out of multi-coloured Muggle cellophane, her arms stacked with shiny beaded bracelets. A glittery purple witch’s hat sat jauntily on the left side of her head, her white-blonde hair gathered into a bun on the other side. She grinned, smoothing out her skirt, which crinkled merrily. ‘Thank you. I like your jumper.’

‘Do you?’ He looked down, vaguely considered the moss-green jumper he had thrown on unthinkingly, and shrugged. ‘I don’t really think about what I wear much.’

‘No, you don’t,’ she agreed. ‘We can go shopping together, for the Hogwarts Christmas Ball. All eyes will be on you, you know, Harry. You should look your best.’

‘Do you reckon?’ he asked, looking down at his clothes again. ‘You’re going for the Christmas Ball then?’

‘Yes. I am on the planning committee,’ she said patiently.

‘Oh … oh, well, how is it coming along then?’

‘It’s coming along well. We’ve managed to get almost everybody to agree to come. Professor McGonagall wants to make it clear that everyone is welcome back to Hogwarts next year, especially after that article in the _Daily Prophet_.’

‘What article?’ Harry asked; the last time he had read the _Prophet_ was the day they wrote about _HARRY POTTER’S ILLICIT DEATH EATER AFFAIR._

‘The op-ed about using the Sorting Hat to create a Slytherin Registry. The writer thinks we need to watch anyone who might be a Slytherin, claiming that every one of them is a potential Voldemort,’ her face twisted with distaste. ‘Professor McGonagall was furious. Madam Pomfrey had to force feed her a Calming Draught to stop her from marching to the _Prophet_ ’s offices. After that, Professor McGonagall was determined to have every single Slytherin – alumni and present students – attend the Ball. She’s been running Parkinson ragged with the invitations.’

‘Parkinson’s on the committee?’ Harry asked, surprised.

‘Yeah. Zabini too. They’re really good at finding sponsors,’ Luna said.

‘I should think so – all of their pureblood bigoted pals, desperate to prove they are one of us.’ His words came out more caustic than he had meant. Luna looked at him sharply, and he flushed, ashamed. ‘Well, it’s true,’ he said stubbornly, clutching his glass.

She looked away, taking a sip of her drink. ‘You shouldn’t say things you don’t mean, Harry, especially since everybody will be watching you. You might just make a Slytherin Registry become a real thing.’

‘I don’t have power like that,’ he protested, frowning at her.

‘More witches and wizards are wearing Muggle clothes now, don’t you see?’ she asked, seemingly apropos of nothing, eyes fixed on him.

‘… No,’ he said slowly.

She nodded briskly, patting him on his shoulder. ‘Yes, you don’t see it yet. It’s all right, Harry, every one of us heals at our own pace. It isn’t weaker to take a longer time than others.’

‘What do you mean?’ He was feeling as if he had taken a vat of Confusing Concoction; Godric, he loved Luna, but picking apart her riddles after five pints was asking for a bit too much.

‘You’re unhappy,’ she said, and the simple truth that rang in her words shot through his chest, straight and true as a Stunner. ‘And that’s okay. You don’t have to pretend, Harry.’

‘What?’ he asked, wondering if she had been talking to Hermione.

‘You should come to the next meeting,’ Luna said.

‘What?’ he repeated; Luna’s logic jumps needed five feet of parchment to decode.

‘It’ll be good for you,’ she added solemnly. ‘Promise me you’ll come for it. It’s on Tuesday night at 8pm at Hogwarts.’

‘Ah …’ Harry hadn’t been back to Hogwarts since the funerals.

Luna focused the entire force of her beguiling innocent gaze on him. It was like trying to push away an orphaned puppy with three legs and a stump of a tail. His resistance wilted, his mind too fizzy with drink to provide much of a defence against her.

‘Oh, alright,’ he grumbled and tossed back the rest of his drink. ‘Only for you, Luna.’

She smiled, the distant moon glowing in a clouded sky. ‘You won’t regret it, Harry,’ she promised. ‘Here, let me get you another drink. Beer again?’ She skipped off, ducking behind the counter to grab their drinks.

Around Harry, the party spun on, the laughter elongating and dissipating into the smoky, beery air. His friends’ faces were bright and sparkling in the orange light, wreathed in smiles and soaked in booze. _You’re unhappy._ Harry shut his eyes, and he was spinning in the darkness.


	2. The Hogwarts Christmas Ball Planning Committee

**_\- Chapter Two -_ **

**The Hogwarts Christmas Ball Planning Committee**

 

Three days after the Battle of Hogwarts, the Aurors found Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy’s bodies in a shallow grave on Malfoy Manor grounds. Draco Malfoy’s body was nowhere to be found. No one knew precisely what Voldemort had done to Malfoy; those who did were dead.

‘Are you weeping for your tart of a boyfriend, Potter?’ Yaxley had screamed at him. The Death Eater was struggling against the chains that held him to the iron chair in the centre of the courtroom. The man looked utterly wretched, his matted, stringy hair hanging in his skull-like face. ‘We all know how you spread your legs for a _Death Eater_! Did you hear that, you stupid, old bastards, your hero is a disease-ridden _slag_ who takes any dog’s prick up his loose arse!’

Harry had to hold Ron back from hexing Yaxley. Hermione hadn’t been any help; she was ghost-white with rage, her entire frame vibrating with the effort to stop herself from brandishing the wand clutched in her fist. She cried after the trial when Harry told her that what Yaxley said didn’t matter.

‘What happened to your anger, Harry?’ she asked.

 _What anger_ , he wondered. The war was over. Voldemort was dead. The moment his entire childhood had been shaped around was done, buried under the fallen stones and dust of Hogwarts. The trials against Death Eaters and those who had used the chaos of war to commit murder and other acts of senseless cruelty were meant to wrap up a dark part of Wizarding Britain’s history, to put it all behind them.

Harry no longer had any capacity for anger, only weariness.

He felt the weight of it on his shoulders as he stood at the bottom of the broad steps leading up to the Entrance Hall. The massive front doors were thrown open, the strong light from the chandeliers spilling down the steps and across the lawn. Harry shivered, shoving his icy hands into his coat pockets.

On his long walk up from the gates, he marvelled at the silhouette of Hogwarts Castle black against the night sky. There were no more massive holes torn into the castle’s sides, exposing its shattered innards. The towers were standing tall and straight again. The lawn was smooth as velvet. Hogwarts was healed. He was almost jealous of Hermione, Neville and the younger students who would be returning in September.

‘Harry, is that you?’ a rumbly voice thundered.

He turned and grinned to see Hagrid coming up to the castle. ‘Hullo, Hagrid!’

‘Yeh didn’t tell me yeh would be comin’ today,’ the massive gamekeeper beamed, clapping a hand on Harry’s back and nearly driving him to his knees. ‘Ron and Hermione here too?’

‘No, just me today,’ Harry said, surreptitiously rubbing his shoulder, as they trooped up the steps and into the brightly lit castle. ‘Luna’s got me agreeing to be on the planning committee for the Christmas Ball.’

‘I’m on the committee too,’ Hagrid said cheerily. ‘So we oughta be seein’ each other a lot over the next few months. This will be fun, yeh’ll see, Harry! Loads of yer ole school chums on the committee.’

‘Brilliant,’ Harry said weakly.

Tonight would be the first time in months he would be forced to socialise with a large group of his peers. Dumbledore’s Army, he could handle. Most of them were, after all, good friends of his. He had no idea, however, how a Slytherin might react to his presence, especially after the _Prophet_ article on his call to have Malfoy Manor torn down.

They walked into the Great Hall, where the four long tables sat shiny and empty beneath the floating candles. Harry looked up, still awed by the sight of the enchanted ceiling. The last time he had seen it, the ceiling was bare stone and cracked in several places. Luna had said that it took Flitwick a month to figure out the ancient charm.

The Christmas Ball planning committee were clustered at the end of the Gryffindor table, most of them turning to look when Hagrid and Harry walked in. Harry returned Luna’s welcoming smile before glancing over the rest of the crowd. There were all the professors, of course, including a McGonagall, who was looking particularly forbidding. Out of the students, he only knew Luna, Zabini and Parkinson.

People were staring at him, agog, in particular a small, pale man with thinning dark hair and an unfortunately egg-shaped head. He was staring at Harry in outright disbelief, his mouth actually hanging open. No, it was more than disbelief; it was horror. Harry’s alarm bells rang. There was usually only one type of person who would respond that way to him: a man who had done something wrong.

The man saw that Harry noticed and hastily looked down, his pasty skin flushing an unattractive brick red. Harry didn’t recognise him. He must be from the upper years; he looked older than the rest of them. McGonagall stepped up to him, blocking the suspicious man from view.

‘Potter,’ she said drily. ‘I didn’t know you are good with parties.’

‘Oh – er –’

‘Harry knows his food, Headmistress,’ Luna piped up. ‘That’s why I asked him. He will work very well with the house elves, I think. His Kreacher can help lead them.’

‘Oh, don’t get me wrong, Lovegood,’ McGonagall said. ‘I am sure Potter can be useful. I am merely a trifle annoyed,’ she pinned him with a stern look that sent him straight back to first year, ‘that he had neglected to respond favourably to my requests for him to join the committee and that it took your plying him with enough alcohol to get him to agree. Yes, Lovegood, I heard this from Longbottom. I had tea with his grandmother over the weekend.’

Harry glared at Luna, astonished that he had been unwittingly caught in her ploy. She merely smiled prettily.

‘Yeh can’t blame the boy, Minerva,’ Hagrid boomed, settling down at the end of the table. ‘Harry’s a busy man! Head Auror in five years, is what I heard. Doing us proud, eh, Harry?’

‘It is good to see you, Harry!’ Professor Sprout said cheerfully. ‘Come now, Minerva. Let the poor boy sit down and have a cuppa. Can’t you see he’s practically blue?’

‘For Morgana’s sake, I’m not going to kick him out,’ McGonagall said with a sniff, stepping aside and gesturing to the table. ‘Well then, welcome to the planning committee, Potter. Please do refrain from bollocking it up.’

As the table burst into exaggerated outraged gasps, Sprout and Flitwick shooting the Headmistress mock scandalised expressions, Luna reached out and pulled Harry down onto the seat next to her. The small, scared man was on Luna’s other side. He was obviously trying to avoid looking at Harry, his nose deep in his teacup.

‘Hullo!’ said the green-haired girl on Harry’s left, shaking Harry’s hand vigorously. ‘I’m Sarah Michaels, sixth-year, Ravenclaw. You played against my sister in a Quidditch match once. She was Seeker, never had a chance against you. She was very upset about it, you know. She had spent a whole week calculating the ideal flight path and speed and even sewed these special streamlined robes for the match.’

‘Oh,’ Harry said, overwhelmed. ‘What’s your sister doing now then?’

Sarah’s smile dimmed, but didn’t falter. ‘Her name was Danielle, but we usually called her Dani. She was my stepsister – my father, pureblood, married her Muggle mother. Dad was a facilitator for a Ministry-run support group for the parents of Muggle-borns whose magic manifested early – that’s how they met. Dani and I didn’t get along at first; she was very competitive and incredibly brave. But she didn’t stand a chance … she had been on the run with two other Muggle-borns, and she gave up her life to save theirs.’

‘Oh,’ Harry said again, feeling slow and stupid. ‘I’m sorry.’ His words tasted like mud.

She gave him a sympathetic smile, as if empathising with his inability to be a proper person with functioning emotions. ‘Thank you. She always looked forward to matches against you – you presented her with a problem she couldn’t solve and there was nothing she liked better than solving problems. Anyway, let me introduce you to the rest of the committee.’

She began to make introductions around the table. Harry smiled and nodded and did his best to remember names. Most of them were from sixth and fifth years in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. There was a couple from Gryffindor Harry had vaguely seen around the common room; they grinned at him excitedly. There were a number of older students too, alumni who had come back to help. The older man on Luna’s right turned out to be one such volunteer: Luc, who was in seventh year when Harry was in fifth.

‘This is his first meeting too,’ Luna said, gently patting Luc’s arm. ‘He’s a cousin.’

Seeing the strained look on Luc’s face, Harry rather suspected she had similarly coerced him into coming.

‘Which House are you from?’ Lionel the Gryffindor asked.

‘Hufflepuff,’ Luc spoke softly, eyes downcast as if afraid to meet somebody’s eyes.

Harry caught the way Sprout looked at Luc, frowning in puzzlement. Before she could say anything, McGonagall cleared her throat and called the meeting to order. Harry half-listened, the rest of his attention focused on the mysterious Luc.

He would have to ask Luna about him. As a pureblood, she doubtlessly had a widespread network of extended family. It should be enough that she claimed him as a cousin, and yet … there was _something_ in that first moment Luc saw Harry. Harry’s gut instinct was commanding him to _watch this man._

Luc was doing all he could to look anywhere but at Harry, even when Harry was speaking. Over the next hour and a half, Harry took perverse pleasure in attempting to catch Luc’s eye and smiling at him when he succeeded. It was just that Luc would blanch every time and there was fierceness in his eyes that rather reminded Harry of a rabid Pygmy Puff.

‘Stop goading him,’ Luna whispered, digging her bony elbow in his ribs.

‘What?’ he hissed, rubbing his side. ‘Goading who?’

‘My poor cousin,’ she retorted, turning her head and inadvertently whipping him in the face with her thick braid.

He glared at the back of her head, aggrieved. Well, _she_ was the one who brought him here, wasn’t she? It seemed that the planning committee hardly needed any more help; they had most of the details of the ball ironed out, and it was only when they needed a “fresh eye” or “outsider’s opinion” that they sought Harry’s or Luc’s.

Harry took a sip of his sugary tea, reaching out for a biscuit. Parkinson was sneaking glances at him. When their eyes met, she flushed and looked away, causing Zabini to turn to check on what troubled her. He realised that it was Harry and glared at him as if it were Harry’s fault. He took Parkinson’s hand, squeezing it, and leaned in to whisper something into her ear. She shook her head firmly, turning her head resolutely to look at McGonagall. Zabini shot Harry a lingering look of dislike before looking away.

Harry ate the biscuit slowly, savouring the buttery sweetness on his tongue. Zabini was a character he couldn’t quite figure out. Harry had thought he was one of Malfoy’s most trusted friends, from what he could discern from whatever Malfoy told him, but Zabini was the one who tipped Hermione off about the Amortentia. He was the one who brought Malfoy’s ploy crashing down and ripped Harry apart in the process.

There was a splinter in a part of Harry’s chest he thought was dead. He swallowed his biscuit, dry as dust. This was why he didn’t bloody want to come back to Hogwarts.

Not here in the Great Hall, where he had spent mornings secretly watching Malfoy at the breakfast table, worrying that the prat was looking too skinny, itching to press his lips against that smooth, pale skin.

Nor out in the corridors, where he had grabbed Malfoy, pushed him against the wall in an alcove and snogged him long and deep until they were both aching and hard in their pants.

They were lies. Every moment Harry had with Malfoy in sixth year were all fucking lies, because Malfoy had fed Harry a love potion, tricked him into thinking this was love, he loved Malfoy, wanted to offer his arse up like a Snitch for the victor. But that wasn’t the worst part. No, knowing that he was perfectly willing to bottom for Draco Malfoy wasn’t the worst part.

The worst part was knowing that Malfoy hadn’t been taking any love potion. He had been perfectly lucid every moment he spent together with Harry. He didn’t have to tell Harry all those things he did, telling him about his childhood, about how much he loved his parents, about the secret rooms he would hide in to avoid a caning. He didn’t have to hold Harry as tightly as he did while Harry was telling him about the cupboard under the stairs. He didn’t have to look at Harry with those _eyes_ all the fucking time.

The splinter grew larger, lodged in Harry’s lungs, made it hard to breathe.

He really didn’t want to come back to Hogwarts, where every room contained the ghost of Malfoy.

At the end of the meeting, Luc was even quicker than Harry to flee the room. Harry stared after him, watching the petite figure draped in an oversized beige cardigan disappear into the Entrance Hall. He turned to Luna, frowning. ‘He’s not your cousin, is he?’

Luna was on her feet, neatly packing up her things. ‘Of course he is, don’t be silly, Harry. He’s a cousin from Mother’s side of the family.’

‘Is he?’ Harry narrowed his eyes. ‘What’s his full name?’

‘Luc is the name he prefers to go by at the meantime. I’m afraid you would have to ask him what his full name is,’ Luna said, looking up at him, her pale eyes filled with sympathy for a reason obvious only to her.

He didn’t try probing further. If Luna wanted to tell you something, she would have said it already. Instead, Harry sighed, getting to his feet. As they were walking out to the gates, accompanied by a chatty Sarah, Parkinson called out to Harry.

‘Potter, I’d like to have a word with you, please,’ she said, looking unaccountably nervous, Zabini glowering at Harry from behind her.

‘You go ahead,’ Harry said to Luna and Sarah.

‘Be kind,’ was all Luna said before pulling Sarah along.

Harry was bemused. _Be kind?_ He shook his head; not the time to figure out Luna’s riddles at the moment. He turned around to face Parkinson and Zabini. They were alone on the lawn, the doors to the Great Hall creaking close as the teachers shut Hogwarts up for the night. The rapid cracks of Disapparition echoed from the gates.

‘What do you want?’ Harry asked, not unkindly.

Parkinson took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry,’ she blurted. ‘I’m sorry for trying to give you up to the Dark Lord. I’m sorry for being such a twat to you during our years at Hogwarts. I’m really sorry.’ Her pug-like face was screwed up in distress, her fists clenched tightly by her side. Zabini loomed behind her, a dark figure of disdain.

Harry looked at the pair of them and was abruptly breathless with the fury that choked him. His chest was hot and tight, the rage that he had kept screwed up tightly crashing through him, eradicating decency and reason. Why the fuck had these two worthless shitheads survived when Malfoy – _his_ Malfoy – had died?

‘You are only saying this now because my side won and yours lost,’ Harry said coldly. ‘How very Slytherin of you, hurrying to prove that you’re all right, that you’re one of _us_ now.’

Parkinson’s eyes widened. She took a half step back, Zabini reaching out to steady her at the elbow. ‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ she shook her head. ‘I really am sorry, Potter. I wasn’t thinking, I was scared and I didn’t want to die. I’m sorry, Potter.’

He laughed bitterly. ‘And? What do you want me to say, Parkinson? What do you expect? I don’t care for your apology – it means nothing to me. You don’t mean it. You’re only trying to get me to endorse your entry into proper society now, are you? Save your little lies, Parkinson, for those who care.’

The Slytherin was visibly shaken, her composure crumbling. Harry paused, a sickening feeling brewing in his chest. What was he doing?

‘You certainly are something, Potter,’ Zabini interjected, voice smooth as glass, frosty as Freezing Charm. His dark eyes were glittering with malice. ‘I have always known there was something wrong with you. There you are, spouting lines about House unity and the wizarding world coming together as one, and here you are, throwing hatred and prejudice in the face of a sincere apology.

‘Did you wonder why there are so little Gryffindors and Slytherins on the committee earlier? Slytherins because they are afraid of the reception they will get. Gryffindors because you swollen-headed glory-hounds are too busy leaping into fights to defend a world filled with fracture lines you help to put there.

‘You are a fucking liar, Potter. You haven’t saved the world yet. I told Draco to stay away from you, but he wouldn’t listen; he was so fucking in love with you. _You_ are the reason he died.’ His dark, handsome face aglow with triumph because he knew he had got Harry, Zabini wrapped an arm around Parkinson and marched her away.

Harry stood in the ankle-length grass, staring blankly at the dark windows of an empty Hogwarts. He exhaled shakily, his anger utterly spent. He pressed a hand against his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut.

‘Do you think I don’t know?’ he said to the darkness. ‘I know I’m the fucking reason he died. I _know._ ’

His words faded into the darkness, lost syllables, lost vowels, reaching out for a boy who was no longer there.


	3. The Slytherin Registry

**_\- Chapter Three -_ **

**The Slytherin Registry**

 

It turned out Luna was telling the truth: she had a cousin six times removed from her mother’s side named Lucas Norton, a half-blood. That was all the information Harry could get from Ministry records. If he wanted to confirm the years Luc had spent at Hogwarts, he would have to check the school’s records, which he couldn’t do without explaining to McGonagall and sounding absolutely nuts. _No, Professor, he hasn’t done anything, but I have a bad feeling about him. Yes, Professor, a bad feeling, like a stomach-ache._

‘Leave the bloke alone, Harry,’ Ron said, carefully levitating a man-shaped statue made entirely out of Ever-Bouncing Bouncy Balls into the display window. His brows were furrowed in sheer concentration as he cleared the barrier and set the statue down with the collective shrieks from the balls. ‘What do you think?’

‘It looks dangerous,’ Harry said doubtfully. ‘Don’t you get kids in here?’

‘That’s the idea!’ his best friend crowed. ‘A kid is sure to touch it, right? Will send the entire thing come crashing down, balls all over the place, it’ll be a madhouse!’

‘And … that’s the effect you’re going for?’

‘Exactly,’ Ron beamed proudly, wiping his hands down the front of his robes and turning to look at Harry. ‘Anyway, we were talking about Luna’s cousin. It just sounds to me that the poor sod was a little star-struck.’

‘He was _glaring_ at me.’

Ron shrugged, going behind the counter. He took a moment to survey the shop and the well-stocked shelves reaching up to the ceiling. Satisfied, he flicked his wand and the sign at the door flipped over to “Open”. ‘He might just be one of those blokes with intimidating faces.’

‘No, I told you, he looks as scary as a hamster. It’s just … weird the way he tried not to look at me.’

‘Oh, come on, mate. Are you bragging that people are looking at you all the time?’ Ron asked teasingly. ‘You’re _upset_ that this man wouldn’t look at you! Are you interested in him? Strange, I thought you like blondes.’ He caught himself, a look of guilt flashing across his face. ‘Bollocks, sorry, Harry, I wasn’t thinking.’

‘You don’t have to apologise,’ Harry forced a grin. ‘I do like blondes. I should go. Saturdays are your busiest days, aren’t they? Say hi to George and Kate for me.’

‘You don’t have to go, mate,’ Ron said worriedly. ‘It won’t get busy for a few hours yet and –’ He was interrupted by the tinkling of the bell as a family of young children rushed into the shop.

‘I’ll see you later,’ Harry called over his shoulder, weaving his way between excited, jumping children to the door.

‘Dinner at the Burrow tomorrow, remember! Mum will kill you if you don’t come,’ Ron shouted after him.

He waved a hand over his shoulder, the door tinkling shut behind him. He suppressed a groan, pushing his hands into his pockets and setting off down the street. _Dinner at the Burrow._ These words used to make him happy. Now they only filled him with the dread of seeing Ginny.

He made for his favourite coffee shop, a tiny place with five tables down a side street. As usual, there was no one else there but the sunny, half-blind, ancient owner. She called Harry dearie and always gave him a large, homemade, gooey chocolate chip cookie for free. He settled down at his table by the window, wondering how he could get out of the dinner; it would be his third time in a row now. Mrs Weasley might just march down to Grimmauld Place to drag him out by the ear.

It wasn’t that Ginny and he had an acrimonious break-up. They just never started up again after the war. They were even friendly for a period. Then that dratted article came out in the papers and Ginny confronted him about it. He could only admit that he had been using her to spite Malfoy, that he hadn’t really meant anything he said to her; he definitely deserved the punch to the guts and Stinging Hex to the balls she gave him.

Thank Merlin she hadn’t set any of her brothers on him, although Ron was understandably a little cold to him for a few days after. Hermione told him in unequivocal terms that he was a complete and utter arsehole who deserved to fall into a cesspit.

Harry sighed, munching on his cookie. He was staring unseeingly out of the window, the grey of the buildings and streets melding together. A small, hunched-over figure caught the corner of his eye and he turned quickly, just in time to catch the sight of Luc rounding the corner. He was on his feet and through the door before he had time to process the spilled tea down his front.

He barrelled around the corner, apologising breathlessly as he bumped into people. The little man was scurrying along, head ducked down behind the upturned collars of his black coat. Harry slowed once he had visual contact of the man. He stopped in an empty shop’s entrance and when the crowd eddied to briefly reveal a clear path, placed an Undetectable Tracking Charm on Luc. Satisfied, Harry stepped off the door stoop and continued following the man.

Lucas Norton didn’t seem to have a destination in mind. He wended his way up Diagon Alley, heading in the general direction of Gringotts gleaming white and gold at the end of the street. He entered a bookshop and came out a book-shaped bulge in his coat pocket, and stopped by a bakery for a scone. Harry hung back, knowing that the Charm, which tugged on his wrist like an invisible string, would warn him if Luc tried to run.

Before he reached the end of the street, Luc turned down a quiet narrow street. Harry took more care to walk further behind, so when Luc next turned a corner, Harry hadn’t seen where the man had gone. Still, the Tracking Charm urged him on, told him that Luc was down this dark alleyway. His fingers wrapped around his wand, Harry stepped forwards cautiously.

A hand seized him by the lapels of his coat, shoved him into hard stone, a wand stabbed above his sternum. Luc’s brown eyes shone in the dim light, hard and unforgiving as bits of amber. He made a sound of disgust, releasing Harry and stepping back. ‘What the fuck do you want, Potter?’

Harry took several deep breaths, rubbing his chest where Luc’s wand had dug in. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Shopping in Diagon Alley,’ Luc shot him a flinty look of loathing. ‘Is that a crime, Auror Potter?’

‘No, but attacking an Auror is,’ he retorted.

‘I wasn’t attacking an Auror; I was stopping the creepy bloke who had been following me for the past half an hour,’ Luc said through gritted teeth. Standing at half a head shorter than Harry, Luc glared up at him, his body taut with tension.

Harry relented, knowing that he couldn’t explain himself without reinforcing Luc’s admittedly reasonable deductions. The man clearly hated him; how egotistical would Harry sound to say that this animosity towards Harry was suspicious simply because nobody else treat Harry like that these days? ‘Fine, I’m sorry. I only wanted to ask you if you would like to have tea with me.’

‘Why?’ Luc demanded, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

‘Well, because – because we’re both members of the planning committee?’

‘Why did you have to put a Tracking Charm on me then? Hardly something you would do to be friendly.’

‘I … I didn’t want to lose you in the crowd,’ Harry said lamely.

Luc rolled his eyes and stepped back. ‘Take the spell off.’ Harry took the spell off sheepishly. ‘It’s illegal to put a Tracking Charm on a citizen without proper cause for suspicion – and you’re off duty at the moment, you have no rights to put the spell on me. But it’s all right, Potter,’ Luc held up a hand to forestall Harry’s protests, ‘I’ll let this slide. Just stay away from me. I don’t care for your smarmy, faux do-gooder principles. By the way …’ he leaned in close, close enough for Harry to smell the scone on his breath.

Their eyes were locked on to each other. The hardness in Luc’s eyes melted away, revealing something volatile roiling in their dark depths. The small man’s chest was heaving, his breath puffing out warm and wet. There was tension in the air, an expectation Harry didn’t know had manifested. Luc’s eyes dropped to Harry’s lips. His face – small and round like an adorable rodent’s – was close enough for Harry to see the trembling of the other man’s lips.

Before Harry could process his disbelief, Luc pulled away. ‘You have tea down your front, did you know?’ he asked, voice cold and snobbish.

With that, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the alleyway. After hastily cleaning up his clothes, Harry followed.

‘What was that?’ he demanded. ‘Were you trying to kiss me?’

‘Of course not. Piss off!’ Luc was striding fast towards the main street.

‘You were,’ Harry insisted. ‘What are you playing at? You don’t speak like a Hufflepuff. You’re lying about who you are, aren’t you? How did you manage to get Luna into this? What’s your full name? I have the right to ask questions now, don’t I, when a stranger was _obviously_ trying to kiss me.’

Luc hunched his shoulders, wrapping his coat firmly around himself. ‘Bugger off, Potter.’

‘Stop!’ Harry commanded, grabbing Luc’s shoulder.

‘DON’T _TOUCH_ ME!’ Luc all but screamed, whirling around to face him.

Harry stared, taken aback by how small Luc had felt beneath his hand and the demented rage obvious on Luc’s face. The other man was pointing his wand in Harry’s face, hand shaking uncontrollably.

‘Why the fuck can’t you just leave me alone, Potter? I have no fucking interest in hypocritical heroes! I don’t understand how Luna can still defend you when you are clearly determined to destroy the wizarding world. You are such a sad, pathetic little piece of _shit_.’

Harry was aghast, his pride completely and utterly smashed into smithereens on the cobblestones beneath Luc’s feet. He had no idea he had such an ability to inspire such hatred in someone – someone other than Malfoy. His instinct was to react with anger, but when he opened his mouth, a jagged, indecipherable emotion flicked across Luc’s face and Harry found himself asking calmly, ‘How am I destroying the wizarding world?’

It took a few moments for Luc to marshal his thoughts; he had clearly been expecting anger. He drew himself back, stamped down on his heaving anger, and said in a strained voice, ‘You’re advocating the so-called Slytherin Registry. You’re perpetuating the idea of Slytherin as an evil House, and you’re allowing thousands of innocent children to be branded as criminals. You’re –’

‘I am not advocating the Slytherin Registry,’ Harry interrupted, irritated at such baseless accusations.

‘You’re not doing anything to stop it,’ Luc shot back.

‘I can’t do anything about it if the Ministry really wants to push it through!’

Luc sneered, shaking his head. ‘Do you honestly believe your own excuses for not doing anything, Potter? Like I said, pathetic little piece of shit.’ He turned to walk away.

Harry stepped in front of him, forcing the other man to stop. He was inexplicably annoyed. Luc’s words reminded him of what Luna had said that night in the pub and rang with the accusations of prejudice Zabini had unfairly hurled at him last week. Harry _wasn’t_ prejudiced. It was true, it was all true that Slytherins were liars and cowards and the worst sort of people, it was _true_.

 _You Gryffindors are so insular._ Malfoy had said that, accused Harry of being blind to any House that wasn’t Gryffindor. He was _wrong_ , Zabini was wrong, Luna and Luc were wrong. Harry had saved the world, hadn’t he? He was one of the _good_ guys, for Merlin’s sake! He had already done his bit, given up all he could to save everyone. Where did this _Lucas Norton_ get off, pinning additional responsibility on Harry?

‘If anyone should suffer because of this _Registry_ , they deserve it,’ Harry said unthinkingly.

Luc stared at him in disbelief. ‘These are _children_ , Potter. You are marking them like how the Dark Lord had marked _you_ , you selfish prick.’ He stepped around Harry and walked away.

This time, Harry let him go.

Harry stood in the quiet street, his mind working furiously. He could hear his heart thundering in his ears, and feel his blood rush, hot and quick. The tea and biscuit he had consumed roiled queasily in his stomach and he clapped a hand over his mouth to stop it from coming up.

It was as if he had been enclosed in a dome of foggy glass for the past year or so, and for the first time today, someone from the outside had scrubbed a tiny spot clean and Harry could see the cloying, sticky darkness threatening to swallow he and his dome whole. The darkness had risen nearly to the top and Harry was close to drowning.

 

* * *

 

‘Do you reckon they’re right?’

Harry felt oddly nervous as he awaited Hermione’s answer. They were sitting on the floor of the sitting room, sipping their drinks as they watched Teddy bang figurines of trolls and dragons together gleefully. The baby squealed in delight whenever the troll emitted a groan of pain. Harry couldn’t decide to be proud or concerned.

He was babysitting Teddy for the night; Andromeda was out for dinner with old friends. Hermione was supposed to be finishing up some work, but Harry had managed to lure her out of the study with wine and promises of adorable baby antics. He told her about the committee meeting, about his confrontation with Parkinson and Zabini, about Luc Norton’s diatribe.

She set her wine glass down carefully and turned to look at Harry, tucking her legs neatly beneath her. She had the manner of someone bracing herself for an uphill battle.

‘You have to understand, Harry, what you mean to the British public,’ she said solemnly. ‘If you really want to hear my opinion, shut up and don’t interrupt until I’m done.’

He made a face, but nodded. She searched his face carefully, and apparently satisfied by what she had seen, went on.

‘From the beginning, your survival of the Killing Curse is a symbol of hope, of liberation, because somehow, a hapless baby,’ – their eyes turned inexorably towards Teddy – ‘prevailed over one of the most powerful Dark wizards in Britain. I know you hate the way people look at you, the way the papers write about you, but it’s understandable – you _saved_ us. And you saved us all a second time.

‘ _This_ time, we know you made the conscious choice to sacrifice your life for the rest of ours. Against Voldemort’s selfish grapple for power and desperate, unnatural attempts to prolong his life – do you see how powerful a symbol you make? A young man in the prime of his life, giving up everything he has to defeat evil.

‘I know, I know you think it’s nothing so great, nothing so noble, but that’s not how _everybody else_ sees it. They don’t _know_ you. They know Harry Potter, the symbol for peace and goodness. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

Her familiar brown eyes were wide and sympathetic, because better than her understanding of public perception, she knew _Harry._ Perhaps she had already known what he would do before he did, before he had received the proverbial kick to the nuts. He exhaled shakily. Teddy had hauled himself to his feet and was taking slow wobbly steps towards Harry, holding out his toy dragon.

‘Draco,’ the child cried out cheerfully. ‘Draco!’

Harry was abruptly gripped by the darkest self-loathing. How long had he been sleepwalking through his days? He had taken up Kingsley’s offer of a place in the Auror Office, working to bring down Death Eaters and other Dark wizards, all this while turning a blind eye and deaf ear to anything else happening because he didn’t want to know, didn’t want to feel.

Because opening himself up these intrusions meant allowing himself to remember that Draco Malfoy was dead. It only took one wrong step and Harry would be slipping into despair, wretched in his agony for his loss.

He reached out, took Teddy in his arms, and buried his face in his godson’s soft hair. The child giggled, grabbing Harry’s hair, and the knot in Harry’s chest eased. Someone should bottle baby’s laughter and sell it as Cheering Charms. He looked up and met Hermione’s concerned gaze.

‘Tell me about the Slytherin Registry,’ he said.

Hermione beamed and Harry suddenly realised how she had constantly frowning in his presence. He hadn’t seen her – or Ron or any of their other friends – smile like that around him in a while. His stomach clenching, he promised himself that he would have to do something about that soon.


	4. Knockturn Alley

**_\- Chapter Four -_ **

**Knockturn Alley**

 

The thing about going around like a Grindylow with its head buried in the lake bed for so long was that over the next two weeks, Harry was constantly amazed at all the things he had missed. Such as the fact that there were no Slytherins in the Auror Office, and a handful in the entire Department of Magical Law Enforcement relegated to mostly administrative roles.

Or that people were using _Slytherin_ as an insult now, something akin to _Mudblood_. Harry had seen a witch being called _Slytherin bitch_ and bursting into hysterical sobs, claiming that she was good, she was Muggle-born.

Or that the proponents of the Slytherin Registry were largely Gryffindors and the most outspoken of the opponents were also Gryffindors. ‘Who the fuck cares if I’m Gryffindor or Ravenclaw or Slytherin?’ shouted Theodore Kingsbury, the leader of the opponents. ‘This isn’t right – forcing people into stereotypes even before they can make a choice! Look at the lot of you – you call yourself Gryffindors, but you’re a bunch of cowardly rats, attacking the innocent.’

‘Calm yourself, Kingsbury,’ Nathaniel Wesley, who had written the controversial op-ed, said coolly. ‘Do not throw baseless aspersions at me. I am not – I repeat, _not_ – advocating violence. I am merely suggesting that it will do our society some good to have a way of tracking those … shall we say, predisposed to the Dark Arts.’

Harry, standing at the back of the hot, crowded room, couldn’t hold in his snort. The witch standing in front of him looked back, but shrugged when her eyes passed over a seemingly empty patch of wall. Harry shifted carefully. It was stifling under the Invisibility Cloak, but he couldn’t risk making his presence known before he decided on what he should do.

The _Daily Prophet_ had organised this public debate in the ballroom of the ritzy Hotel Everton in the heart of Diagon Alley. Admission was free, but the tabloid would earn from its extensive coverage of the event over the next few days. The term “debate” was loosely applied. It was clear opinion weight on the side of Wesley – and nothing that had unfolded over the past hour helped to sway things to Kingsbury’s side.

Wesley stood tall and straight, looking elegant and immaculate in his fitted maroon robes, dark hair carefully combed and parted down the middle. He gave off an air of efficiency and trustworthiness. Harry had checked up on his background; the man was a pureblood with a healthy Gringotts vault.

Kingsbury, on the other hand, was a former Quidditch player. He hadn’t been on any of the popular teams either, playing substitute Beater on teams in the small leagues. He wore Muggle attire, beaten-down and scrappy, his wand stuffed carelessly into the back of his jeans. Where Wesley screamed “proud wizard”, Kingsbury insinuated “fuck your close-minded wizard mind-sets”.

After another half an hour of watching Wesley neatly dissect Kingsbury’s poorly worded arguments, Harry had had enough. He was searching for a way through the crowd when Wesley said his name. He stiffened, eyes fixed on Wesley’s long, horsey face.

‘And it would seem Harry Potter himself agrees with my proposal,’ the wizard said, blue eyes sparkling with spiteful triumph. ‘He is pushing for the destruction of Malfoy Manor. He has publicly denounced Slytherins as dishonourable people, people who can’t be trusted, people who lie and cheat. Of course, he hasn’t spoken for the Slytherin Registry yet, but I _know_ for certain our Saviour is about to release a rare statement about a new act next week.’

Harry listened, stunned. When had he said such things? His flush itchy on his cheeks, he remembered saying so to Luna, to Parkinson and Zabini, often to Ron and Hermione. But he had said them in private – he hadn’t _publicly denounced Slytherins._ He shook his head, furious. How could he forget that the public eye was constantly on him? Merlin’s pants and ballsack, he had been too sodding careless.

‘Yeah? Well, Potter is a pillock!’ Kingsbury shouted and that was the moment he had utterly lost the room.

People roared, surging forwards, and Harry pressed himself against the wall, flabbergasted at the intensity of the outrage for the besmirching of his name. Plainclothes Aurors jumped out of the crowd and began shouting for calm and order. Harry took the chance to dive into the crowd, elbowing his way to the exit.

He escaped into the hallway, just slipping past the hands of a stocky Auror he vaguely recognised. He pelted down the thickly carpeted hallway, heading straight for the street. In the large lobby, guests and employees were turning to look in the direction of the ballroom, alarmed by the raucous noise. None of them noticed Harry Potter fleeing the scene.

He only stopped running when his lungs were burning in his chest and he thought he might drown in his sweat. He flung himself into an empty alley, collapsing to the ground, his legs giving way like pudding. He tore his cloak off, sucking in teeth-achingly cold air. He held his head in his hands, shaking and nauseous.

The world was such a wretched mess and Zabini and Luc Norton were right: Harry had helped to make it worse. He struggled to breathe through the bone-deep horror and despair.

On that night six months ago, he had been given the choice between the peaceful oblivion of death and the dangerous uncertainty of life. He had come back to life because he still had Draco Malfoy to settle. He only knew that the Malfoys were missing, had been missing for almost a year. He came back to life for Malfoy, only to find that Malfoy had gone on ahead and Harry had just missed him.

Harry was pressing his fist into his mouth, stifling the desperate sobs. His face was hot with tears. He didn’t think that he would live in a world without Malfoy and so hadn’t made an effort to care for it. Luc was right to call him a selfish prick.

Harry saw it now: his life wasn’t his own. From the moment he had chosen to give up his life to save others, it had always belonged to them: Ron, Hermione, the Weasleys, Luna, _Teddy._ The world still had _them_ and Harry would do what he could to set it right.

  

* * *

 

 

He didn’t know how long he had been squatting there until a gruff voice said, ‘Are you feeling better then? My ma always said a good cry makes everything better.’

Harry looked up to see Gregory Goyle standing in the doorway opposite, holding a rather dirty teapot in one hand and a chocolate muffin in the other. When Goyle realised who he was, he turned ashen under his scraggly beard and dropped the teapot and muffin, whirling around. The pot smashed, sending china shards and steaming tea flying in all directions.

‘Wait!’ Harry called out, and to his astonishment, Goyle obeyed.

Harry rose to his feet, shaking out the cramps in his thighs. ‘Turn around.’ Goyle did, his face wobbly with fear and dread. The big man looked as if he were about to burst into tears.

‘What are you doing here?’ Harry asked, trying to sound as gentle as possible.

‘I – I – I live here,’ Goyle swallowed noisily.

‘Here?’ Harry looked around and realised that he hadn’t turned down some random alley. His feet had brought him to Knockturn Alley.

He was staggered by what he was seeing. Knockturn Alley hadn’t ever been particularly salubrious, what with the dark twisty street, display windows of Dark artefacts and nasty patrons. In the year Harry hadn’t been here, the street had gone completely to hell.

There were holes up and down the street, as if entire shops had been scooped out and tossed aside. Bits of masonry and brick littered the narrow street, larger blocks shoved to the side. Every single glass window had been shattered, shards glittering in the murky light that reached here. Shop fronts were scorched; extremely strong _Incendio_ s had done their work here.

Now that he was paying attention, Harry was aware of the unnatural silence of the street, the absence of Diagon Alley’s hustle and bustle even though the main street was only a short distance away. There was the stench of fire and damp wood in the air, a smell that clung to the back of Harry’s throat and made it hard to breathe.

Knockturn Alley looked like a street bombed out during the Muggles’ Second World War.

He looked back at Goyle, who was watching him tremulously. ‘You live here?’

‘I’m not doing anything wrong,’ Goyle blurted. ‘My ma owned this shop, see, it used to be a restaurant, only it isn’t anymore because it’s illegal to work here, but the law didn’t say anything about _living_ here. The property is mine, see, I’m not working here, I swear, I only live here. Look, this is the deed – I have it, it’s mine now that Ma’s dead. I’m not doing anything wrong!’

Harry didn’t look at the parchment Goyle was brandishing. He kept his eyes on Goyle’s scared face. ‘I’m not accusing you of anything,’ he said slowly. ‘I’m sorry I startled you. Here, let me …’ He took out his wand – Goyle flinched – and waved it over the pieces of the teapot. He picked the repaired receptacle up. ‘Sorry about the food.’

‘Oh,’ Goyle said, dumbfounded, taking the pot. ‘It’s all right. I have more inside.’

Harry nodded, taking a step back. ‘All right then. I should go. Shan’t disturb you any longer. See you around, Goyle.’

He hadn’t taken two steps before Goyle called out. ‘Potter! Have you had tea? Would you like to come in?’ The large man looked nervous as Harry considered his offer.

Goyle was clearly scared of Harry – perhaps not of Harry, but of what he represented, which, Harry was learning very quickly, was intensely unfriendly to Slytherins. Well, if he wanted to help them, he would have to first convince them that he _was_ on their side. So he smiled, agreed and followed Goyle through the narrow doorway flanked by blacked-out windows.

The inside was actually pleasant, taken into consideration the street outside. The place had clearly been a restaurant once, most of the tables and chairs neatly stacked up against the windows. The left side of the room contained two beds – one tidily made, and the other a rat’s nest of blankets and pillows. Next to the beds were cupboards being used as dressers and nightstands. There was a table with a stack of books and rolls of parchment.

The rest of the restaurant was pretty much kept the same, including the large industrial kitchen Goyle led Harry to. He gestured for Harry to take a seat at the scarred wood-topped island and began fixing tea. Harry hadn’t heard Goyle talk much in school, but he was now learning that when Goyle was nervous, he talked.

‘My ma was a great cook, she taught me how to cook. I baked these muffins, have some, Potter, they’re good. I do rather well with pot roast too. That’s Zabini’s favourite. He thinks I should carry on with the restaurant once he gets the sanctions on Knockturn lifted. Millie – Millicent Bulstrode – has a shop here too; her parents sold herbs and they broke now because they can’t do business. They don’t sell anything _illegal_ of course, just herbs they grow themselves, those that are hard to find. That’s why she’s so brilliant at Herbology, always helping me at school.’

As he rambled, he set a fresh pot and a plateful of warm muffins in front of Harry. Harry listened, munching on the muffin, the sense of guilt deepening within him. Had he ever paused to consider his classmates outside of school? No, he hadn’t. He didn’t bother with people once he had branded them as Slytherin. What did Millicent Bulstrode, who had once support Umbridge, matter? Harry hadn’t realised what a stubborn, narrow-minded prick he could be sometimes.

‘What’s Tracey Davis doing now?’ Harry blurted. Malfoy had told him Davis was a Muggle-born Slytherin.

Goyle gave him a queer look. ‘The Death Eaters killed her for being Muggle-born.’

Harry’s heart plummeted. In that same moment, the back door burst open and Lucas Norton came storming in, in the midst of a heated tirade. ‘–Total _idiot_! He wouldn’t listen to us and see what happens? Of _course_ Wesley tore him apart like that. We told him, we _told_ him, didn’t we, that fucking Nathaniel Wesley was going to bring up Potter? For Salazar’s sake, that _git_! We had _such_ a good platform too. Blaise, remind me _why_ we’re working with these meatheads again?’

He caught sight of Harry then and paled. He froze in his tracks, causing Zabini, who was saying, ‘Because he’s the only one – what the hell –’, to walk right into him. Zabini’s words withered on his lips and for a breathless moment, the three of them stared blankly at each other.

There was something intimately familiar about the way Luc had spoken. It was more than his accent, which was posher and more clipped than before. It was his mannerism, the way he gesticulated and screwed up his face with emotion. A feeling akin to reminiscent itched beneath Harry’s skin. What was this feeling?

Goyle broke the moment by picking up the plate. ‘Muffins?’ he suggested timidly.

Luc strode forwards, furious, as Zabini carefully closed the door behind him and placed a Locking Spell. Alarmed, Harry held his hands up because Luc seemed like he was prime to punch him in the face. The smaller man hauled him off his stool and slammed him against a cabinet of utensils. Harry winced; for such a small man, he was absurdly strong.

‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ Luc snarled.

After everything he had seen over the last two weeks, Harry couldn’t blame Luc for being so angry, so he continued to hold his hands up and explained as calmly as he could with a fist shoved against his throat. ‘I came from the debate too. I was … I was upset and I wasn’t watching where I was running. I ended up in Knockturn before I knew where I was, and … Goyle invited me in for tea.’

‘I heard something outside – I thought it was you guys – and I saw him cry – I saw Potter there.’ Goyle flushed, mortified at his slip-up.

Harry shrugged. ‘Yeah, I got lost because I was crying.’ He met Luc’s glare defiantly. The other wizard snorted, releasing Harry and stepping back. Harry rubbed the back of his neck where the edge of a pot had jabbed him. Luc was scowling. Zabini and Goyle hovered in the background.

‘What could _you_ have to cry about? You don’t care about the debate.’

Here it was: Harry’s chance to earn their trust, the start of his battle to make something go _right_ for once. He took a deep breath, seeing Zabini’s stone-cold expression and Goyle’s uncertainty.

‘I was crying because it hurts when I think about Draco Malfoy. It’s true what they said in the papers. He was my lover,’ Harry said simply. ‘I can’t help him anymore because he’s dead, but I can do what I can to help his friends. You’re right – I _didn’t_ care about the debate, the Slytherin Registry. I care now and I want to help. Let me help.’

Lucas Norton looked as if he could hear the shrieks of a thousand Augureys. He took a half step back from Harry, face pale and drawn. Behind him, Zabini was incensed. He was about to move forward when Goyle grabbed his arm and shook his head. Harry couldn’t decipher the expression on the flat, broad face.

‘Draco Malfoy was your lover,’ Luc said flatly.

‘Yes,’ Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true. We were sixth year –’

‘The article also said he fed you a love potion,’ Norton interrupted.

‘Not true,’ Harry said a little quickly. ‘He didn’t.’ He shot a warning glare at Zabini. ‘Malfoy – he wouldn’t do a thing like that. I was with him out of my own free will. That bollocks about a love potion is only that – bollocks.’

Luc seemed to have stopped breathing, his eyes searching Harry’s face over and over again for a sign of deception. Harry knew that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy as a couple was close to impossible to believe, but he couldn’t help but be a little irritated by Luc’s reaction. What, did he think Harry wasn’t attractive enough to be with Malfoy?

‘So?’ he asked aggressively. ‘Will you let me help?’

Luc dropped his eyes. ‘If you really knew Draco Malfoy, he should have told you that you can’t simply get what you want from demanding it. What will you give us, Potter, if we allow you to help us?’

Zabini made a sound of disbelief. ‘You can’t –’

‘I’ve got this, Blaise,’ Luc said sharply, lifting his head again. There was a fire in his eyes that pulled at Harry. ‘Well, Potter?’

Harry licked his dry lips, saw the way Luc’s eyes followed the movement. ‘I will tell the _Daily Prophet_ the Sorting Hat nearly put me in Slytherin and perhaps I should have gone there – might have helped me kill Voldemort earlier.’

Luc burst into laughter and his face lit up. Harry had thought him plain and mousy, but when he laughed – sweet Merlin, when he laughed, warmth flooded Harry’s chest and he could hardly think for the strange pain that twisted in his chest.

‘Well done, Potter,’ he crowed, holding out a hand. ‘You win. Fine, you can help us. I’ll let you in.’

Harry took that small, cold hand. His skin tingled where they touched, and when their eyes met over the handshake, Luc’s eyes were dark with an incomprehensible expression. Harry could only tell Luc was making him a promise, then and there, but whether that promise was in his favour, he had no idea.


	5. Luc’s Secrets

**_\- Chapter Five -_ **

**Luc’s Secrets**

 

‘This is rather brilliant,’ Hermione admitted, spreading the _Quibbler_ open over the _Daily Prophet_ , _Witch Weekly_ and the rest of the publications that were screaming the headlines: _HARRY POTTER – SLYTHERIN?_

‘Thank you,’ Luc said, happily picking up a biscuit off the plate Goyle was handing around. He caught Harry’s eye and smirked.

Harry smiled back, ignoring the disturbing little clench of his heart.

His interview with Luna had been printed that morning. The rest of the newspapers and magazines had promptly come out with evening editions reporting on Harry Potter’s admission to be “at least half Slytherin” with liberal lifting from the _Quibbler_ interview.

Luc had laughed at the expression on Harry’s face when they headed out to the newsstand and his mug was blinking at them from every cover page. Harry pretended to be irritated, only because it made Luc laugh more and Harry was perfectly willing to do a little playacting to make the other man laugh.

‘Look at this,’ Ron said excitedly from the other end of the table. ‘It says here Wesley slammed the door in the faces of reporters who tried to get a quote from him on this. What a prat!’

‘A prat with a lot of Galleons and quite a bit of influence,’ Zabini reminded him. ‘Give it here – does it say anything about Kingsbury?’

Ron handed it over, making a face. ‘I reckon we need a new face for the movement against Slytherin discrimination.’

‘What about Charlie?’ Luna suggested. ‘He’s handsome.’

Harry and Hermione laughed at the appalled look Ron gave the blonde girl.

‘Are you talking about me?’ Seamus asked, swanning into the kitchen with Dean, Neville and Ginny in tow.

‘Ugh, of course not, you berk,’ Ron screwed up his face. ‘What are you lot doing here then? Drinks not ‘til eight at the Leaky.’

‘I bumped into them at Diagon Alley,’ Parkinson said. She came in and went straight to Zabini’s side. ‘Hullo, sweetheart.’ She dropped a peck on his upturned cheek. ‘I told them to come join us for dinner. Greg wouldn’t mind – he loves cooking big dinners, don’t you, Greg?’

It was clear that it didn’t matter whether he did or not, because what Pansy Parkinson wanted, she got. The big man shrugged. ‘It might take a little longer, but I can handle it,’ he said, lumbering to his feet. ‘The lot of you get out of the kitchen then. You’re all in my way.’

‘I’ll help,’ Luc piped up.

‘Me too,’ Harry said quickly, earning him a glance and smile from Luc.

Harry hadn’t imagined that this was possible: his friends mingling with the Slytherins without any lines drawn between Houses, all of them drawn together by the desire to make their world just a little better. It was almost too easy to get his friends to agree to his scheme, once he had brought Luc, Zabini, Parkinson and Goyle to a Dumbledore’s Army drinking session and explained what he had learned in the past two weeks. It seemed most of them had already realised that something was wrong – Harry was ashamed it had taken him so long.

Dinner passed in a flash. They chattered about their day, about the Hogwarts Ball happening in three weeks, about some of the most outrageous prejudicial comments Wesley and his supporters were spouting. Luna had even succeeded in eking a rare laugh from Zabini, causing Parkinson to regard her rather jealously. This prompted Luna to rather matter-of-factly say that while she thought Zabini was very handsome, she was dating the very lovely Hannah Abbott at the moment.

Ginny smiled at Harry a few times, which he found rather heartening. Perhaps she was on her way to forgive him. Hermione noticed – of course she did – and gave him an encouraging squeeze under the table; she had called him an arsehole, but at least she knew he was a contrite arsehole.

Harry volunteered to wash the dishes at the end of dinner.

‘I’ll help,’ Luc said.

‘Thanks,’ Harry grinned. ‘We’ll see you lot at Leaky later then.’

He ignored the knowing looks his friends shot him. Zabini was frowning and Parkinson had to drag him away. For some reason, he was very protective over Luc.

Between the two of them, Harry and Luc managed to move the dishes into the kitchen. Harry was in charge of _Scourgify_ ing the plates, forks and spoons while Luc sent them back into their proper drawers and cabinets. They worked in silence, but it felt natural. Harry could hear Luc’s steady breathing, and for some reason, that soothed him.

‘Want to have a drink before we join them?’ Luc asked, grinning mischievously and waving a bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey.

‘Sure,’ Harry said with a smile, settling down at the island.

Luc sat down next to him, their elbows brushing as he poured out two glasses.

‘Cheers,’ Harry said, his eyes watering from the powerful fumes as he took a sip. ‘Oh, wow, that’s strong.’

‘Can’t our hero hold his liquor?’ Luc teased, languidly sipping his drink. His tongue darted out and ran along his lower lip, leaving it shiny in the bright kitchen lights.

Harry rolled his eyes and took a bigger sip this time. ‘Don’t call me a hero.’

The other man chuckled, swirling his drink around. ‘Fine, you’re just a prat then.’

‘Berk.’

Luc made a face and took another swig.

Harry watched him from under his eyelashes, not wanting to make it so obvious that he was looking at the man. After spending so much time with Luc over the past week, Harry saw the brilliant, razor-sharp personality hidden beneath his mild appearance. There were moments when Harry mistook him for another man and had to stop himself from reaching out.

That wasn’t to say Lucas Norton was a nice man. He could be a cold-hearted bastard when he chose to be. He didn’t mince his words, whether with his friends or otherwise. When he was working towards something and you were in his way, he wouldn’t hesitate to cut you down. There were times when Harry and he would engage in a shouting match, mainly because Harry disagreed with Luc’s blunt way of doing things. The bastard would sacrifice a few trees to save the forest; Harry wanted to save every fucking tree in the damn forest.

Still, Harry found himself undeniably drawn to Luc. The tender ache pulsing in his chest was now a constant whenever he was in Luc’s presence.

Luc glanced at him. Their gazes met and held.

‘Thank you for helping, Potter.’

Harry gave a half-shrug. ‘You’ve helped me by allowing me to help,’ he said honestly.

‘Yeah?’ Luc was leaning across the counter top, arm stretched out, head braced on a hand. He turned sideways, facing Harry fully. ‘How did I help you, Harry Potter?’ His lashes were lowered, a slight flush to his cheeks, lips wet. There was something in the way he said Harry’s name. An emphasis, a barely there hitch in Luc’s throat.

Harry stared at him, his own breath caught in his throat. ‘You … I … well, I thought I was fine … at the end the war. Voldemort is dead, the Death Eaters are gone … it’s over. I took a job with the Aurors like everybody expected me to. I don’t mean I don’t enjoy it – I like tracking down the bad guys and helping people – but I was only going through the motions. My friends … they tried to tell me that something was wrong, but I wouldn’t listen. I thought I was fine, you know?’

Luc nodded slowly. ‘You think you’re fine and then somebody says something or you see something and you are back in the middle of hell.’

‘Do you still get nightmares?’

‘Every night. I wake up screaming.’

Harry cracked a smile. ‘I wake up pissing in my pants.’

‘How terrifying. You win, Potter,’ Luc smirked.

They were quiet for a moment, each taking a sip.

‘Potter,’ Luc’s voice was composed. ‘Will you tell me about Malfoy?’

When Harry read the exposé on his and Malfoy’s relationship in the _Prophet_ three months back, he went into blind rage ripping the paper up and setting it on fire. Hermione had to Stun him to stop him from setting the house on fire.

The article had reduced Malfoy to a conniving seducer, Harry a humiliated trembling virgin. He had flatly refused to address the story whenever a reporter waylaid him at some official event. He would neither confirm nor deny it, because it was none of their fucking business what had gone on between Malfoy and him.

Harry didn’t need anyone to try and understand what they had. He didn’t think Malfoy himself understood what they were. Merlin, it was only in hindsight that Harry realised that he loved Malfoy, whether there was the Amortentia or not. The sad thing was that Malfoy had died, believing that the only way he could have had Harry was if he had drugged him. Knowing that was enough to knock Harry to his knees.

Malfoy was already been taken from him.

Harry was not about to give away anything else of him.

He finished his drink, set the damp glass down. ‘No. I won’t. I can’t.’ He couldn’t read Luc’s expression. ‘He’s mine, and I won’t give him away.’ He didn’t think he explained it well enough; Luc’s face was still blank. ‘Malfoy’s mine, you see, but he’s dead so I don’t have anything else of him, right? These memories are all I have left. I can’t share them with you – they’re _mine_. Oh, bollocks, I’m not making much sense. How strong is the whiskey?’

‘Do you hate him, Potter?’

‘Why do you call me Potter?’

‘He gave you Amortentia, tricked you, do you forgive him?’

‘Did Zabini tell you that? That stupid big mouth,’ Harry grumbled. ‘It’s not true; Malfoy didn’t give me love potion. Or rather, he _did_ , but there’s no point because I was already in love with him by then, the stupid pillock.’

Luc’s eyes were the flat, glassy surface of a lake at night. ‘Do you hate him?’

Harry met his eyes. His head was spinning slowly.

‘How can I hate him, Luc?’ Harry wanted to know. ‘How can I when I still want him so fucking much it hurts to even breathe in a world without him?’

‘You would take him back?’

‘I would go down on my knees and beg him to come back to me.’

And Luc was kissing him. His lips tasted of Firewhiskey and tears. The heat of his lips scalded Harry, searing through his skin. He kissed Harry roughly, urgently, his arms twined around Harry’s neck. They parted for a breath, Harry’s eyes opening to catch the soft, broken look on Luc’s face.

Luc pulled him in again and Harry couldn’t think. Their mouths parted, their tongues met, hot and wet and rough. Luc was exploring his mouth with a thoroughness Harry hadn’t experienced in a long time. He buried his head deep in Harry’s hair, yanking him none-too-gently closer. Then Luc did something that set every single alarm bell in Harry’s head shrieking: he ran his tongue along the roof of Harry’s mouth, the very precise spot that reduced Harry to helpless desire.

There was only one person who could know his weakness.

Harry pulled away, breathing heavily, pushing his glasses back on properly. Luc blinked up at him, looking dazed. He searched that dark-eyed, snub-nosed, round face desperately, his fingers digging into the flesh of Luc’s upper arms.

‘What?’ Luc asked breathlessly.

It couldn’t be.

_His body is nowhere to be found._

Harry leaned back in, pressing his lips hard against Luc’s and then nipping at his bottom lip in the way he knew Malfoy loved. Luc gave a little moan, the helpless sound setting Harry’s nerve endings on fire. He clung on tighter to the back of Harry’s jumper.

It was impossible.

_They only found Lucius and Narcissa Malfoys’ bodies._

‘Potter?’ Luc opened his eyes, because Harry had stopped again and was staring at the other man in mind-numbing, frozen incredulity. ‘What’s wrong?’

Harry’s thoughts were scattered, recounting the past week, the things Luc said, the way he did things, inconsequential connections made and dismissed before everything coalesced and crystallised into three main points.

Firstly, Luna, Zabini, Parkinson and Goyle knew about this.

Secondly, Malfoy _was_ a stupid fucking coward.

Thirdly, Harry was sodding _furious_ and he didn’t care about Malfoy’s reasons – not right now – and he wanted to make the fucking _shithead_ pay.

So he smiled and said, ‘Nothing’s wrong. Shall we move to the bed?’

There was a moment of conflict in Luc’s – Malfoy’s – eyes, but then Harry licked his lips, and Malfoy released a shaky breath and nodded. Harry took him in his arms and continued kissing him. Clutching at each other, desperate hands fumbling, they staggered their way out of the kitchen and into the main room. His hands tight on Harry’s hips, Malfoy manoeuvred them towards the beds in the corner.

They collapsed into a bed, Malfoy pressing Harry down. His tongue was deep in Harry’s mouth, his knee between Harry’s legs. Harry rocked his hips and felt his hard-on press against Malfoy’s thigh. Malfoy groaned, deep and ragged. They parted. Malfoy’s eyes were dark with wanton desire, his lips red and swollen.

‘There’s something I miss doing,’ Harry whispered and in a swift motion, flipped them over. ‘Scoot up,’ he commanded, hands on Malfoy’s hips, pushing him up to lean against the headboard. He sat between Malfoy’s legs, a hand hovering over the fly of his trousers as he checked Malfoy’s expression.

There it was: those _eyes_. That look that told Harry that Malfoy was thoroughly, completely _his_ , that made Harry feel as if he were the stars and the dream of stars and distant planets. Like Harry was magic itself.

Harry wanted to weep so he looked down and focused on giving Malfoy a blowjob instead. He pressed the heel of his hand against Malfoy’s bulge, causing Malfoy to gasp. Hiding his wicked grin, Harry crouched down, took the zipper in his teeth, looked up and began to slowly pull it down. Malfoy was staring at him, pupils blown wide with desire. Pressed beneath Harry’s chin, Malfoy’s cock was twitching in anticipation.

With the zipper down, Harry sat up again and hooked his fingers on either side. He yanked the trousers and pants down in a single, strong movement. Malfoy’s hard cock sprang free. _Merlin, fuck._ Harry knew that this wasn’t really Malfoy’s body, but it had been so long since he had had a cock. _Godric, I’m bent as fuck._ He wanted to laugh, remembering how vehemently he had told Malfoy he didn’t like blokes.

The cock in front of him was flushed pink, its swollen head wet with pre-come. The dark curly hair at the base grew in a tuft, half hiding the balls. Harry’s mouth watered to take its heaviness in his mouth.

‘Are you going to suck me off or are you just going to stare at it?’ Malfoy demanded, his voice strained.

Harry looked up and smirked to see the need written clear across Malfoy’s borrowed face. ‘No need to be so rude.’ Without further warning, he dipped his head and wrapped his mouth around the head.

‘ _FUCK!_ ’ Malfoy all but screamed, his hips jerking, his cock sliding deeper into Harry’s mouth.

Harry had only ever given Malfoy a blowjob twice; Malfoy liked sucking cock too much to relinquish a chance to do it to Harry. He had asked Malfoy why once, and the pillock laughed and said, ‘If only you can see the way you look when you come into my filthy mouth, Potter.’

Harry took as much cock as he could into his mouth, a hand wrapped around the base of the shaft that pumped in time with the bobbing of his head. Malfoy was hissing incoherent vulgarities, his thighs trembling with the effort of staying still. Harry looked up. Malfoy hadn’t taken his eyes off him, eyes so intense they scorched against Harry’s skin.

‘Fuck _yes_ , oh fuck, Potter, _FUCK_. Yes, yes, oh _FUCK_!’

Harry was licking stripes up the shaft to the engorged head, fondling Malfoy’s balls as he went. He slid his tongue into the slit and without warning, because Malfoy was biting down hard on his bottom lip, Malfoy was coming, his scrunched-up face falling apart in complete release and Harry understood a little of what Malfoy meant by “the way you look”. There was warm spunk all over Harry’s face, some even landing in his hair. Malfoy exhaled breathily and swore colourfully enough to make a sailor blush.

When his cock finished twitching, Harry looked up, wearing a self-satisfied smirk, and licked the side of his lips where come had landed. Malfoy’s face was blank with disbelief. The both of them were still for a moment, staring at each other. Then Malfoy was dragging Harry up by the arms and they were snogging.

By the time they parted, come was smeared all over Malfoy’s face and Harry couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of it. Malfoy shot him a look and shoved his hands under Harry’s jumper. ‘Clothes off,’ he said, voice low and sultry and promising; Harry couldn’t take his clothes off fast enough.

Naked, they kissed, arms wrapped around each other, tongues swirling in hot mouths. Harry was grinding his cock against Malfoy’s thigh, the man being rather shorter than he was used to. They parted breathlessly. Malfoy was grinning at him devilishly.

‘Do you want to do something fun?’ Malfoy asked.

‘For you or me?’

‘Both of us,’ Malfoy replied and moved between Harry’s legs.

Harry spread his legs willingly. Malfoy slipped his hands beneath Harry’s back, lifting his arse up, bent down and pressed his mouth against Harry’s puckered entrance. Harry gasped, his back arching. ‘ _Fuck_!’ he hissed, having just enough presence of mind to keep from calling out _Malfoy_.

Malfoy’s tongue was hot and wet and talented. It swirled around the rim, slowly but surely working Harry open. Malfoy’s hands were clasped tight around Harry’s waist. As Malfoy ate Harry out, he held out a hand, summoning his wand non-verbally. He took a moment to sit back, grinning at the look on Harry’s face. His eyes not leaving Harry’s, he whispered a lubricating spell and coated his finger liberally. Harry made no protest.

It burned at first and Malfoy had to tell him to relax, to calm down, that he wasn’t going to hurt him, that it was going to feel _good._ The voice wasn’t Malfoy’s, but the words were, and that _look_ in his eyes, that look of stupid worship, and Harry was only too willing to let Malfoy take him all the way.

Malfoy began to move his fingers hard and fast, his eyes intent on Harry’s face. Harry was moaning, the sheets fisted in his hands, his cock bouncing with the force of Malfoy driving into his body.

Then –

Then Malfoy curled his fingers upwards and hit a spot that made Harry’s mind white out in sheer pleasure. He mewled, back arching, feet curling. When he came back down again, he looked at his lover, about to ask, ‘What the _fuck_ was that, take me there again,’ but Malfoy did it _again_ , only he took the length of Harry’s cock in his mouth at the same time and Harry was swept over the edge.

He was screaming; he didn’t even know what he was saying. There was only bone-deep aching pleasure and he was coming and coming and he didn’t think he could stop coming. Malfoy’s mouth was hot and wet, and he was grinding his fingers against that spot in Harry. Harry was seeing stars and he had no idea he had passed out until he came to, drooling from the corner of his mouth.

He lifted his head to see Malfoy sitting at the foot of the bed, looking at him with a satisfied, soppy smile. ‘Come here,’ he growled, reaching out to pull Malfoy down onto the bed next to him.

Malfoy was clearly expecting more intense, needy kisses. He blinked in surprise when Harry began dropping soft, gentle kisses on his come-smeared face, tracing his cheeks, down to his jawline. Harry took Malfoy’s hand, brought it up to his lips, kissed the fingertips. He turned Malfoy’s hand over, kissed the inside of the wrist, felt the pulse against his lips. He clasped Malfoy’s hand to his chest, tucking his head beneath Malfoy’s chin, his ear against the other man’s chest.

 _Alive, alive, alive_ , went his heartbeat.

Malfoy wrapped an arm around Harry’s shoulders, twining his legs between Harry’s. ‘Is this what you want?’ he asked, voice hoarse.

Harry closed his eyes, feeling warm and languid and – for the first time since Malfoy had left him – happy.

‘Yes.’

 

* * *

 

The morning after, it all went to shit.

The front door slammed open, Zabini hollering, ‘Draco! Get up!’

Harry lifted his head muzzily from where he had nestled in the crook of Malfoy’s neck. In the middle of the night, Malfoy had pulled the blanket over the pair of them, wrapping Harry in both the heat of his arms and a woollen blanket.

Zabini was standing in the middle of the empty restaurant, staring in abject horror at Harry. ‘Draco. Get up.’

Next to Harry, Malfoy was stirring. Harry didn’t need his glasses to see that the Polyjuice Potion was slowly wearing off over the course of the night. Even as he watched, the dark hair was lightening, the round face lengthening. When Malfoy stretched, his body stayed stretched. He opened his eyes and Harry was looking into the familiar grey eyes he loved. He couldn’t help himself; he leaned in and dropped a peck on Malfoy’s lips.

Malfoy smiled sleepily. ‘Good morning.’

‘Morning,’ Harry whispered.

‘Draco,’ Zabini said and Harry would always hold a grudge against him for that.

Malfoy’s eyes snapped open, abruptly awake. He gave a little gasp, shoving Harry aside as he moved backwards. Cold air slid between their parted bodies. Malfoy shook his head. His terror – sheer, blind terror – was obvious on his face now.

‘It’s okay, I know, Malfoy, I knew from the moment you kissed me,’ Harry hurried to say.

It only made Malfoy more frightened. He groaned, tearing the blanket off him, tumbling out of bed. ‘No. No no nononononono. _No_.’

‘Draco, it’s worse. Look,’ Zabini strode forwards, brandishing a newspaper, his face ashen.

Malfoy took the papers instinctively, his body shaking in the chill of the morning. He read the headlines and groaned, deep and painful. He picked up his wand, letting the newspaper flutter to the ground. He summoned a robe, wrapped it around himself and walked out of Goyle’s mum’s restaurant before Harry or Zabini could stop him.

Harry took his time to rise. It didn’t matter where Malfoy went for the moment; Harry knew there was no way Malfoy would leave him now. He cleaned the dried come off his face and hair, dressed in the clothes scattered around the bed, walked over to the newspaper Malfoy had dropped, and, upon reading the first article, very calmly crumpled the papers up and lit it on fire. He dropped the fireball to the ground, turning to face Zabini, who was looking miserable.

‘It’s over,’ Zabini said, burying his face in his hands. ‘They exposed Draco, claimed that he faked his own death to wriggle his way back to you – they had a few photos of you lot in the pub. Fuck, those _bastards_. Draco had worked _so_ hard.’

Harry stood, looking at him, thinking. Malfoy had said once that Harry hadn’t the capacity to be a Slytherin. Well now, Harry was about to prove the conniving blonde bastard wrong.

Goyle emerged from the kitchen. ‘Good morning, lads. I didn’t know you stayed over, Harry. Do you want some breakfast? Where’s Draco? Oh, shit, I mean –’

‘It’s okay. I shagged the bastard last night, I know it’s him,’ Harry interrupted with a smile. ‘Sorry, Goyle, can’t stay for breakfast. There was some balls I need to crush.’ Then with a grin at Blaise and Greg’s gawping faces, Harry turned on his heel and walked out.

He kept a steady pace all the way through the burned-out Knockturn Alley, up Diagon Alley and straight to the doors leading to the offices of the _Daily Prophet._ He didn’t bother to knock before striding in.

‘Good morning,’ he announced to the astonished newsroom. ‘Have I got a story for you …’


	6. The Hogwarts Christmas Ball

**_\- Chapter Six -_ **

**The Hogwarts Christmas Ball**

 

Harry found him in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

Draco Malfoy was standing by the sink, staring down at something in his hand. He heard Harry’s footsteps and looked up. He didn’t seem surprised. He looked down at his hand again.

‘Did you use the Marauder’s Map?’

‘Yeah,’ Harry said sheepishly, stopping a distance away, putting his hands into his pockets.

They stood there for a few moments, Draco looking at his hand, Harry studying him. The stubborn prat looked good: elegant forest-green robes edged in muted silver. Whenever he moved, the silver embroidery caught the light and Draco would shimmer; Harry had been watching him all night.

He had let his hair grow out in the month they had been apart; his blonde hair framed his face in a loose, casual way Harry could never achieve. He looked a lot better, as if Greg had been successfully force-feeding him. Harry liked to think that maybe the letters he had been sending contributed to some of Draco’s glow.

Down in the Great Hall and spilling out onto the lawn, the Hogwarts Christmas Ball was in full swing. Harry had seen McGonagall glide through the room, smiling with great satisfaction at the sight of her students, future, present and past, and their families mingling with ease and gaiety. It was good to see her smile like that.

Harry had also seen Hermione and Neville twirl around the ballroom, her bushy hair fanning out as she threw her head back to laugh at what he said. They looked so buoyantly happy that even Ron could summon nothing more than a half-hearted wistfulness, especially since Kate from the shop had gone over to ask him for a dance. He gave Harry a cheeky grin and wave when he caught Harry looking.

Ginny, who was passing by, shook her head and quipped, ‘I don’t understand how any girl will want to date _that_.’ She grinned at Harry before swooping off to snatch a dance with a rather famous, sleekly handsome Quidditch player.

Luna was already on the dance floor, trying to force Blaise and Pansy to join her and Hannah in their strange, almost ritualistic dance. Harry laughed at the sight of Blaise’s pinched-face look of horror and Pansy’s embarrassment. There was nobody like Luna Lovegood and Harry fervently thanked Merlin for Luna in his life – even if she was a little _too_ good at keeping secrets.

Draco had gone off in the middle of the ball and Harry gave him half an hour before setting out to find him.

Draco moved now, holding out his hand. ‘Look at this. Myrtle gave it to me.’

It was a glass bead, shaped like a teardrop with a hole through the round middle. Harry took it, surprised by its warmth. Draco looked over his shoulder, at Moaning Myrtle’s usual haunting spot.

‘She’s gone,’ he said. ‘She’s gone on to … where my parents are, I suppose.’

‘You … encouraged her to leave?’ Harry asked gently.

Draco shrugged, dropping his head to look at his hands. ‘She was miserable. She’s already dead, I don’t think she should suffer even in her undeath, so I talked to her. I’ve been doing it for a month, you know. That’s the main reason I agreed to come to the first committee meeting – I wanted to see Myrtle again. Luna tricked me, the sneaky tart. Blaise and Pansy recognised me straightaway, the bastard placed a Tracker on me, forced me to live with Greg … as if six years of sharing a dorm wasn’t enough … ah, but you know all this, of course.’

‘Yeah, pretty much,’ Harry said, conjuring a thin leather cord. ‘Snape saved you, but Luna was the one who kept you alive in the manor. She showed me where they kept you imprisoned. I burned the place down myself, hope you don’t mind. All part of destroying any vestige of Voldemort, of course.’

Draco shot him a look. ‘That place hasn’t been home since the Dark Lord moved in … That Luna, she’s a Ravenclaw all right,’ he shook his head. ‘I don’t know how she convinced Voldemort to let her “serve” him … crazy girl.’

Silence fell between them, Draco’s head drooping, Harry knotting the leather cord. He held out the bracelet, the bead threaded through. ‘Give me your hand.’

Draco looked at him, grey eyes wet with tears. ‘What?’

‘Your hand,’ Harry repeated patiently, nodding at the bracelet.

The blonde extended his hand. Harry tied the cord off, making sure it wasn’t too snug, and turned the bracelet around so the bead was on top. Satisfied, he looked up to see the rawness of Draco’s expression. He sighed, closing his fingers around Draco’s thin wrist.

‘I forgive you,’ Harry said. ‘I forgive you for giving me Amortentia. I forgive you for walking away. I forgive you for being such a stupid boy. I forgive you, Draco. Come back to me.’

Draco pressed his lips tightly together.

‘You kind of have to, you know,’ Harry said teasingly. ‘I only proposed to you on the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ , called you the love of my life. Do you want to know how I managed to get them to write such tripe? I bartered, like a proper Slytherin would. You should be proud of me, Draco.’

Draco raised his eyebrows. ‘Should I?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t call it a barter. You have come out of it having given something up, but I didn’t. I managed to get your name exonerated, gave the papers a story on my terms, and hopefully, forced them into a more responsible route of journalism.’

Those soft, pink lips quirked into a smile. ‘That would explain the number of articles denouncing the Slytherin Registry. Some of them were even written by proper academics. I must say, I was rather impressed, Potter.’

‘Harry.’

‘… Harry.’

Harry tugged Draco in by his wrist. He wrapped his arms loosely around Draco’s waist, leaning his forehead against his, their noses brushing. He stared into Draco’s eyes that made him of thunderheads, dark and volatile.

‘Well, Draco? Are you coming back to me?’

Draco exhaled, the wine-scented breath billowing against Harry’s lips. ‘Didn’t you say you would go down on your knees and beg me to come back to you?’

Harry grinned. ‘You would make me do that?’

‘No,’ Draco closed his eyes, as if he could not bear to look at Harry. ‘No, I am never forcing you to do something you don’t want again.’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ Harry said, pressing his lips under Draco’s left eye, against the cheekbone. ‘Even if you fed me Amortentia now, I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. _That_ is how crazy I am about you.’

‘I should go on my knees to beg you to take me back,’ Draco said, opening his eyes and Harry was drowning in the intensity of Draco’s want, his need, his heady, all-consuming love.

‘Oh, I can think of several things you can do better on your knees,’ Harry said.

Draco smiled, slow and sure. ‘And what will you give me in exchange?’

‘My life,’ Harry kissed him gently, trailed his lips up Draco’s cheekbones, stopped at his ear. He nipped playfully on Draco’s earlobe.

‘And also my cock in your mouth.’

Draco burst into wild laughter and Harry pulled him back in again and he was drinking in the honey-sweet sunshine that was his lover’s joy.


End file.
